


the fox's karma

by psycho_pomp



Category: Owlboy (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Character Study, Everyone Is A Bad Influence, M/M, Manipulation, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Pretentious Aesop References, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24205798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psycho_pomp/pseuds/psycho_pomp
Summary: once upon a time, there was a hungry fox. upon passing a tree, he saw there was a large bunch of grapes growing on a vine wrapped around the tree's branches. the grapes were perfectly ripe, and the fox's mouth watered as he gazed upon them. but the branch they hung from was far off the ground; the fox, not to be deterred, decided to try and jump for them.however, no matter how hard he tried, how high he jumped, the grapes were always just out of his reach. sitting and panting at the base of the tree, the fox scowled at the grapes, still hanging on the branches. 'why, i am sure they are sour,' the fox snarls. 'in fact, they are not even worth my time and energy!'and with that, the fox, still hungry, stormed off with his nose in the air.
Relationships: Alphonse/Dirk (Owlboy)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. ACT I, PART I

_click_ _  
_ _click click_ _  
_ _clickclickclickclickclickclick_

Something slowly clatters and shudders to life, gears and pistons shaking themselves awake after so many years of stillness.

_wh_ _  
_ _where_ _  
_ _am i_

“Captain, we’ve got a spark!” A mechanical voice calls to a different something far away. A distant but booming laugh answers it. Thunderous steps approach.  
“And here I thought this collection run was a failure! Condition?”

_who_ _  
_ _am i?_

“Not too bad, physically. Some scrapes and dents, but no rust or damaged wiring that I can see. Tassels are a bit of a mess, and the faceplate’s got a nasty crack up the center, but Tante can fix that no problem. No clue about mentally, though. Hey, pal. You there?”

_me?_ _  
_ _where am i?_

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Wake up. Can you hear me? Can you-”  
“ _Whe...re. Am I?_ ”

_Is that_ _  
_ _My voice?_

“There we go. Looking good so far, sir!” Another call over their shoulder. No response.

_Yes... My voice..._

“Tell me everything that you remember. Names, any sort of intended purpose?”  
“ _nnNo. Noth-ing… Who am I?_ ”  
“I’ll tell you who you are!”

A massive, metal hand instantly wraps around what feels like your entire body, it’s thick, powerful fingers squeezing tightly, informing you just how thin and frail your chassis is. In a flash of motion, it jerks you up into the air. You feel heat against your back. The sudden movement snaps your cameras online, apertures opening and closing rapidly, trying to filter out the bright sunlight, and the lens finally focuses on a towering, great-horned figure, a formidable anchor slung over it’s back as it holds you easily 15 feet off the ground. A fierce metal grin glints in the light.  
“YOU’RE A _PIRATE_ , BOY! And I’m your captain, so you do as I say, _UNDERSTAND?_ ”  
  
  
_A... pirate? I am, a pirate._ _  
_ _This is my captain.  
I do as he says.  
  
  
_“ _Yes... Captain. I understand._ ”  
That same booming laugh follows right after, your captain throwing his head back with the force of it.  
“EXCELLENT!! Forty-Five?”  
“Yessir?” The little mechanical voice that was asking you the questions earlier pipes up. You turn your head towards it, and a small, beaked automaton comes into view, a feathered cap upon it’s head and it’s hands held politely behind it’s back. You feel your captain move his hand, and before you can think--  
  
You are unceremoniously dropped at the feet of the smaller automaton, Forty-Five.  
“Bring the boy to Tante and tell her he needs a number. CHOP CHOP!”  
“Already on it, sir!” Your sensors are still reeling from the sudden drop and impact as Forty-Five grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you up off the ground. They chuckle as you clumsily stagger to your feet, and offer a three-clawed hand.  
“Need some help there, rookie? You’re lookin’ a bit uncalibrated.” You shakily copy their laugh, vocal processor lagging ever so slightly, and take their hand.  
“ _Y-Yes, Forty-Five. Thank you._ ”  
Your captain nods once and turns away, every step perceptibly shaking the ground.  
“ALRIGHT, EVERYONE! KEEP LOOKING! WE’RE NOT LEAVING UNTIL I’VE GOT AT LEAST 15 NEW PIRATES, _GOT IT?!_ ”  
A chorus of confirmations and cheers rings out, and you take a minute to look around as Forty-Five leads you along. The sun is shining down from a clear, blue sky. There are buildings all around you, but they don’t look quite right; many have large holes in them, some have toppled over, and others have plants, vines and moss, even trees growing on and out of their walls. The road underfoot is broken and uneven, with chunks of brick and concrete scattered about, and yet more plants pushing up through the cracks.  
  
  
_Did something happen here?_ _  
_ _How did I get here?  
  
  
_"Hey, rookie! Earth to rookie!" Your head snaps to look at Forty-Five, whose claw is waving near your camera.  
"Are you okay, man? You're like, really spacey. You didn’t hit your processor on something, did you?"  
" _I'm, fine, just… What happened here?_ "  
Forty-Five shrugs.  
"Eh, who knows, and who cares anyhow? Nobody here means nobody to stop us pirates from taking what we want!" They give a confident laugh, and launch into a story about the time they found a collapsed mansion, filled with all manner of fineries, and how they’d stripped it clean and distributed it’s contents amongst themselves, with the highest-ranking pirates getting first pick. Some of the amazing things they describe as having been in the mansion seem almost larger than life, and the thought of seeing such wonders grabs your attention and holds it there.  
  
  
_Nobody's here to stop us._ _  
_ _We're pirates, and we take what we want._ _  
_ _I'm a pirate._ _  
_ _I take what I want.  
  
  
_Forty-Five turns a corner, and you’re about to ask them what they’d gotten from the mansion when you see it. The thought stops processing, and every inch of your mind is filled with the enormity of the enormous vessel before you. It’s bow stretches high up into the heavens, so far you have to strain your neck joints to see the top, and the skull affixed to the front watches over you like the sun. Forty-Five stops, and puts their claws on their hips.  
“This here is the Dreadnought. It’s our home, and it’s your home now too.”  
“ _It’s, beautiful…_ ” They laugh again, and point to the open hatch, saying something that you don't catch, lost in the moment. Other pirates are streaming in and out of it, carrying boxes of assorted supplies, talking amongst themselves, and scouting the area. Many of them seem to be clustering around a certain individual, a tall automaton with a long, yellow coat, massive feathered hat, and pair of spiraling horns.  
“ _Who is that?_ ” You point to them, and Forty-Five snorts.  
“You mean the one you can smell the ego off of like crude? That would be Eight, one of Kiva’s little prodigies, but you’d swear from how they act that they were Two.” Forty-Five’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper.  
“I heard from Thirteen and Twenty-Nine that they only got their rank by sucking up to Seven. Total scrap heap, am I right?” You aren’t really sure what’s going on or what they’re talking about, but you like Forty-Five and you trust their judgment of people, so you nod. They snicker, and stride right up to the scrap heap. You follow after, ready to hear your friend tear them a new one.  
  
“Hey there, Eight! How’s it going?” Eight turns away from the two pirates they were speaking to, and their four eyes light up in a smile. The heels of their boots click against the pavement.  
“Ah, hello there my friend! It is good to see you again! Who is this with you, I do not recognize them!” Forty-Five sharply pulls you into a side hug. You nearly fall over from how stunned you are.  
“This is the rookie! Just pulled him out of the rubble, I’m taking him to Tante to give him a number, say hi to Eight, rookie!” You look at Forty-Five blankly, then back at Eight, who is still staring at you, so expectant and smug, like they can sense your confusion and discomfort. Look at them smiling, they know how uncomfortable you are, and they're enjoying every moment of seeing you squirm. You hunch over and cross your arms. Forty-Five was right. What a scrap heap. Forty-Five laughs nervously.  
“Yeah, he’s a bit on the quiet side. Don’t worry about him, he’s still… adjusting, yeah he’s adjusting.” Eight chortles, covering their mouth with a hand, and leans down to get closer to you.  
“Mm, I can sense some potential in this one! Yes, our lovely captain has made quite a wise choice taking him on! He might even make a good Nine for me one day!”  
  
“...Well, lots to do, gotta be on our way, bye Eight!” Forty-Five drags you, still stunned silent, off by the wrist and towards the hatch. Eight waves you off, and Forty-Five mirrors the idiotic pleasantry. You stammer over your words.  
“ _Why didn’t you say anything? They’re a scrap heap, just like you said!_ ” Forty-Five sighs, and pinches the bridge of their beak with a claw.  
“Eight’s higher on the ladder than I am, rookie. They’re way higher on the ladder than you are. Don’t do that thing you did back there again, alright?”  
“ _Why not?_ ”  
Forty-Five pulls you behind a pile of boxes, yanking down on one of your lower tassels to force you onto eye level with them.  
“Listen up, rookie. I’m about to tell you something, and I never want you to forget it for as long as you live.” They jab a claw into your chest.  
“All that friendly bullshit me and Eight were pulling on each other? It was a lie. You go against Eight, and they’ll make your life hell. I don’t like Eight. I **hate** Eight. But I lie to them, and I pretend we’re friends, because if I drop the facade, I’ll be in the triple-digits before my gears can finish rotating.” Forty-Five sighs and clenches their claws.  
“We do what we have to to get ahead, got it?” You nod.  
  
  
_I’ll do what I have to to get ahead.  
  
  
_“Well, this is where we part, rookie. Tante’s right in here. I’d wait for you, but duty calls. See you around.”  
That was the words Forty-Five left you with, before leaving you in front of a large door. They’d brought you inside the Dreadnought, the sound of gears and elevators and ventilation systems whirring and thrumming like a pulse, and made a beeline for the door currently standing before you. You gently push it open, and peer inside.  
The room is large, with tall cabinets lining one wall. Along the opposite wall are many chairs, each with a counter and mirror in front of it. Near the front of the room is a large machine of some sort, built into the wall, with a keyboard and a wide screen. A large, blocky automaton is digging through one of the cabinets, and speaking to another pirate cleaning a mirror, one that is slender, with wheeled feet and sharp, fierce-looking claws on it’s fingers. The large automaton stops, and turns.  
“Why, hello there sugar! Don’t just sit in the doorway, come in, come in!” Her voice is loud, though not as loud as your captain’s, and kind, and her massive hands usher you inside. You follow her advice quickly, closing the door behind you.  
“ _Are you Tante? I was told you could get me a number._ ” The large automaton smiles, somehow, despite lacking a mouth.  
“I most certainly am, and I most certainly can, sugar! But first… Hundred-Ninety-Seven, sweetie, be a dear and get this man into a chair and his faceplate off so I can fix him up. And bring me a brush, won’t you?” The wheeled pirate nods, and zips up to you, grabs you by the arms before you can move, lifts you off the ground with ease, and carries you to one of the chairs. They set you down in the chair, strapping your arms and torso into it while you’re still recovering from being suddenly picked up and moved for the second time today, and plucking the cracked faceplate from you.  
  
"Before I'm giving you anything, I've gotta get a brush through your tassels, sweetheart! How long has it been since you've had a good tune-up?" Tante laughs, big and booming, taking the brush from Hundred-Ninety-Seven. You shrug, as well you can shrug with both your arms strapped down.  
" _I don't know. I don't remember anything before today._ " Tante's face falls.  
"Really? You don't remember your old master, or what they made you for?"  
" _They? Who's they?_ "  
"Only the owls, dear. The ones who once controlled this world and everything in it? Anything?" Tante pats your shoulder, her large hand firm against your chassis.  
  
  
_I was created by great beings?  
_ _Were they pirates, too?  
  
  
_" _Where are they? Did something happen to them?_ "  
"Nobody knows. They're rare nowadays, but no one's sure what happened."  
" _They're still around?_ "  
"That's right. We don't see them as often, but they're around."  
  
  
_But then…  
  
  
_" _Why didn't they come back for me? For us?_ "  
Tante is silent for a time.  
"I don't know. I’m sorry."  
The room is quiet; the only sound left is the brush passing through your tassels, but it isn't long before your curiosity urges you to speak up again.  
" _Why are you named different?_ "  
"Whatcha mean, sugar?"  
" _The other pirates are named after numbers. Why aren't you?_ " Tante pauses her brushing for a second.  
"Lemme explain how things work around here."  
  
“Most of us pirates are named after numbers, that’s right. And your number dictates your rank; lower numbers get to boss around anyone higher than them. Play your cards right, impress your superiors, and you’ll be moving up in no time.  
“Get to the highest level, though, go above and beyond the call of duty, and you can bet that our captain will be taking notice. Prove yourself to him, and he’ll give you the gift of choosin’ a name, to show your drive and importance to him.”  
  
  
_To him. My captain._ _  
_ _I do as my captain says.  
  
  
_“ _How many pirates have names?_ ”  
“Only 5 of us. Me, Ozzi, Miles, Jong-Su, and Kiva. It’s… not easy, hon.” Tante sighs deeply.  
“I had to do and say some pretty rude things to get where I am.”  
“ _You did what you had to to get ahead._ ”  
“Come again?” You look at Tante, the background blurring as the lens focuses on her. You can see scuffs and scratches in her armored body, slight discolorations where pieces of the body and even entire limbs have been replaced.  
“ _You gave everything you had to serve your captain. You did what you had to._ ”  
Tante averts her gaze, smiling without a mouth. A small laugh escapes her.  
“You’re right, sweetheart. I did what it took, and I’m here now, so what’s the point in doubting things I can’t change, right?”  
  
“Alright, almost done! Just got to get something tied around these tassels to keep ‘em from fraying like that again, let’s see, what color… Ah, I know! You seem like a yellow sort of fellow!” Tante laughs about her rhyme to herself, snipping and tying stretches of thread from a spool plucked out of a cabinet.  
“And right on time! Thank you, Hundred-Ninety-Seven, dear, you’re a gem.” A happy chime responds, and Tante gently slots your faceplate back into place, before turning you to face the mirror. For the first time, you get a good look at yourself. Your face is entirely covered by a blank, white faceplate, which is thankfully back in one piece after being supposedly cracked. A quick count tells you that you have 10 tassels in all; three white ones attached near the bottom of the faceplate, three black ones on each side, and one big black one from the very back of the head. All of them have been neatly brushed and smoothed out, and tightly tied in place with pieces of yellow string. You crane your head to look at Tante.  
“ _Thank you, Tante. I appreciate it._ ” She chuckles and rubs the back of her head.  
“Think nothing of it, sugar. I live to serve, same as any good pirate.”  
  
  
After unstrapping you from the chair, Tante ushered you over to the machine near the door while Hundred-Ninety-Seven put the various spools of thread back in their proper places. Keeping up small talk the whole way there, she finally got you your number after a quick query on the machine. You are now Two-Hundred-Five.  
But you don’t plan to be for long.  
You will do what you have to to get ahead.  
You give everything you have to show your captain how important you can be to him.  
You will live to serve your captain, and do as he says.  
You will be a good pirate.

END OF ACT I, PART I 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy, the magnum opus i've been sitting on for a bit. this is gonna be a long one.  
> anyways hello owlboy fandom. you want dirk backstory? you want fuckign dirk backstory??? ingredience
> 
> fair warning, my motivation for projects fluctuates a lot, so expect some hiatuses


	2. ACT I, PART II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: shaming, head injury, guns, violence, stabbing, and murder (mostly at the very end)

You were escorted to the barracks of the Dreadnought by Hundred-Eighty-Eight, one of Tante’s other assistants, who looked strikingly similar to Forty-Five, albeit missing their right arm and the right half of their face. You’d asked Tante about it, but she waved it off, saying it was just an old accident, and to try not to stare, they were sensitive about it. You had involuntarily covered your faceplate with your hands and apologized; they were your superior, and you didn’t want to upset them.  
In the barracks, long hallways with bunks stacked along the walls in semi-even columns, you met with the other new recruits; in the end, there were about 16 of them, not including you. 12 of them came in after you, and were below you on the ladder. The other 4, the ones above you, engaged in somewhat awkward small talk amongst yourselves until a rather small pirate with a sharklike face and heavy armor entered the room, followed by about 8 other pirates of similar appearance. The shark pirate informed you all in a stern, cold voice that they were Hundred-Ninety, but to you, they were officially your new commander. Effective immediately, you were part of their platoon, and would be reporting to them from now on, unless otherwise promoted.   
  
  
_And I fully plan to be._ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ The first few days are the best of your life so far; you were mostly assigned to what your commander called general maintenance, where you and your platoon venture inside the dark, humming metal guts of the Dreadnought, doing quick repairs to anything out of place. You’re a natural at it, with a scarily accurate sense of when something’s not right. You can just… look at a piston block and tell which one is out of sync and needs to be recalibrated, or which tooth in a gear is warped and needs reshaping. And your hands, so small and dextrous, can easily reach into the smaller mechanisms and remove anything broken or jammed inside. Two-Hundred-Three, your superior, is so impressed when you gently finagle a loose turnkey in the door system back into it’s proper slot that they pick you up and carry you to your commander to brag about you to them. What is it with your superiors and picking you up so much?   
Hundred-Ninety looks over your work, and gives a slight but approving nod.   
“Good. Keep this up, and I’ll promote you.”   
You nod, unable to contain the giddy excitement shaking your whole chassis.   
  
It isn’t long before you make your first mistake. It must’ve been somewhere between 4 or 5 days in, deep into a general maintenance shift. You were working on tightening a too-loose spring-lock mechanism, you’re pretty sure it was for the landing gear, you were tired, your hands must’ve had some grease left on them, you knew you should’ve cleaned them one more time, it was all your fault, you should’ve--   
You lost your grip on the spring, and it reeled back and smacked into you like a monster’s tail, knocking you off your feet with ease and sending you flying into the folded-up landing gear. This was all a second-hand account from Two-Hundred-Six, of course; apparently, you hit your head against the landing gear so hard, it briefly cut connection to all your systems. Your cameras came back online just in time to see Hundred-Ninety standing over you. They lift their chin ever so slightly.   
“Up. Now. Be more careful.”   
You nod. You manage to sit up, fighting against the tilting and whirling of the floor under you, noting that your gyroscope must’ve gotten knocked out of calibration at some point. You feel the back of your head. The metal is dented, but not split. You shake your head slightly, listening for the telltale rattle of something knocked loose. Nothing, aside from the fact that you had to steady yourself to keep from losing your balance. You’re probably fine. You’ll go visit Tante when the shift is over. She fixed your cracked faceplate, she can probably fix a dented chassis.   
  
Your self-reassurances are interrupted by claws digging into your shoulders and pulling you with a squawk of surprise to your unsteady feet. Hundred-Ninety vents sharply, their cold eyes boring into your internals.   
“I said, up. Now.”   
You grab onto the landing gear for balance, trying your damnedest to stay on your feet.   
“ _I-I just need, a minute, to--_ ”   
“Two-Hundred-Five. What did I say.”   
It’s hardly a question. It’s a command. You look away, shame nipping at your trembling heels.   
“ _You said, to get up._ ”   
“Now. I said up now. Do as you’re told. I know you can.”   
You nod, still avoiding eye contact. You can do what you’re told. You will do what you’re told, you promise.   
“ _My apologies, commander._ ”   
  
You’re a bit wobbly even after the shift is over, ‘scopes still not properly aligned, and you lose your balance a bit on your way out of the barracks, foot landing somewhat awkwardly on a board. It squeaks, and you cringe. Hundred-Ninety-Four looks up from where they’re tightening a bolt, eyes locking on you.   
“Two-Hundred-Five, where are you going?”   
“ _Just down to Tante’s. I’ll be back in time for lights out._ ”   
Hundred-Ninety-Four cocks their head slightly.   
“For what?”   
You rub the back of your head subconsciously.   
“ _I have a dent from when I took that hit, remember? I’d also like her to make sure nothing brok--_ ”   
“Why do you need to visit her for that?”   
You freeze, not sure how to answer. Hundred-Ninety-Four continues.   
“You could fix the ship’s mechanisms, could you not?”   
“ _I--well, yes, but--_ ”   
“But what? You can fix the ship, you can easily fix yourself. Don’t skimp out on work you can do on your own, unless you prefer not getting promoted.”   
The shame is back, and worse; now it’s hot and curling in your systems, making you shift in discomfort. Two mistakes right next to each other. How could you mess up so badly when you were doing so well before?   
  
  
_I have to make it up to them. All of them._ _  
_ _My platoon._ _  
_ _My commander._ _  
_ _My captain._ _  
_ _I will. I swear I will._   
  
  
You crawl back into your bunk, and spend the rest of your night painstakingly repairing your dents and feeling around for what needs to be put back into place.

  
You’re recharging in your bunk, the dents mostly smoothed out and the gyroscopes realigned, when you’re woken up by something being tossed into your lap. It’s a small pistol, obviously previously used by the scratches and wear and tear along it. Hundred-Ninety-Five stands outside your bunk, arms crossed.   
“Commander says we’ve been assigned for a raid.”   
“ _Wh--Really?_ ”  
“Yeah. Everyone’s gathering up near the hangar to hear the run-down. C’mon.”  
The hangar is a large room you’ve never seen before, filled with what looks like smaller versions of the Dreadnought, each attached to a complicated-looking metal structure and facing a massive door. Your commander informs you of the details of the assignment: you'll be raiding a small frontier outpost, scouting has placed the population at 10-14 individuals, the focus is on collecting weapons, but those who find other valuables will be rewarded, and your platoon will be serving as backup for Hundred-Eighty-One's platoon. You fiddle with the pistol Hundred-Ninety-Five gave you. It has so many moving parts inside, so many it’s almost overwhelming. You don’t really like it; it feels too flimsy in your hands, just one broken piece away from malfunction, and yet too much to handle, like using it and maintaining it is too big a responsibility, like you’ll mess everything up again if you try to use it. You holster it, and hope you won’t have to.   
  
The ship’s internals drone heavy in the background, so different from the distant purr of the Dreadnought from the barracks, Two-Hundred-Ten and Two-Hundred-Eleven on steering. A pink sunset spills in through the small windows. You hadn’t even realized that you hadn’t really seen the sun since you’d been brought into the Dreadnought; there weren’t any windows in the lower decks, and it was always nearly pitch-black in the Dreadnought’s internals. It’s nice to see the outside again, large islands floating serenely in all directions, gliding past at a steady pace.   
  
It’s not long before you approach your destination. Hundred-Ninety sends Two-Hundred-Fourteen and Two-Hundred-Thirteen to get one of the crates of cannonballs from storage. The back of your head prickles.   
  
  
_Don’t skimp out on work you can do on your own, unless you prefer not getting promoted._ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ “ _I’ll help them._ “   
Hundred-Ninety looks to you. You notice that you’ve stood up. You clasp your arms behind your back.   
“ _Permission to help them, commander?_ “   
Hundred-Ninety nods.   
“Permission granted. Good initiative.” Your insides nearly seize up in joy from the praise. Finally, you’re doing something right.   
The crate is really heavy, and it’s clear that Two-Hundred-Fourteen and Two-Hundred-Thirteen would’ve struggled carrying it without your help. You insist on carrying one side on your own, and the two mutely nod and leave you to it. It’s hard, and it hurts, and you think your left shoulder joint might’ve gotten pulled out of alignment, but it’s fine, you can fix yourself later. Hundred-Eighty-Nine motions for you to hand them one of the cannonballs, and you follow the order, dutifully ignoring the dull, aching scrape in your left arm. They open the firing chamber of the cannon, load the projectile into it, and pull a heavy-looking lever to the side of it down.   
  
A great boom reverberates around the room, louder than the roar of thousands of massive gears turning, making you nearly jump out of your chassis. Hundred-Eighty-Nine laughs, completely unphased, and motions for another cannonball. You shake off the pinprick of embarrassment, and grab one out of the crate. This routine goes on for about half an hour, with you slowly becoming more and more accustomed to the sound of the cannon, until Hundred-Eighty-One tells Hundred-Eighty-Nine they can stop. Your curiosity gets the best of you again.   
“ _What were we doing, anyway?_ “ Hundred-Eighty-One, who resembles Hundred-Ninety but with chipped dark red and bright blue patterns on their faceplate, turns.   
“Neutralizing their turrets. They weren’t packing anything strong enough to breach the hull, but destroying them severely undercuts morale and makes them more likely to give up without a fight.” Hundred-Eighty-One tilts their head up, a cruel shine in their glowing eyes.   
“Not like we need a reason to fight, right?” You nod.   
“ _Right._ “   
  
With a lurch, the ship touches down, and out the windows, you can finally see the outpost. It’s really dark, the sun long-since set, but from what you can see of it by the light of the fires flickering in the wreckage, it kinda reminds you of the broken city that you woke up in, all broken bricks and toppled towers.   
  
  
_I wonder if the pirates did that._ _  
_ _Maybe there’ll be plants growing out of the streets._ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ Hundred-Eighty-One gathers their platoon as the hatch lowers. Everything seems to move slower as your processor shifts into high-stress mode. Most of their platoon carries pistols like the one on your holster, but some carry rifles, swords, Hundred-Eighty-One themselves has a large crossbow and quiver of bolts on their back. Your hand goes back to your pistol, and how wrong it felt in your hands. Maybe you could ask Hundred-Ninety for something else? As the hatch finishes lowering, a volley of gunfire instantly cracks through the air, kicking up dirt and pinging off the platoon and leaving hardly a scratch. Your surprise quickly fades; it wasn’t as loud as the cannon, and they look perfectly okay. The platoon rushes out of the open hatch, leaving the relative light of the inside of the ship into the dark night, their clanking footsteps fading. More shots ring out, occasionally punctuated by an echoing scream, something not made by a pirate.   
The sound of it takes something inside you and twists it. Something about this is wrong, something you can’t place. What’s wrong with this picture? You’re on a raid, you were excited for this, you’ve been waiting to show how important you can be, you take what you want, so what’s wrong, what’s wrong--   
“Two-Hundred-Five!”   
You jolt back to reality. Hundred-Ninety is standing right in front of you, arms crossed. The rest of your platoon laughs, and a piece of you curls inwards and dies. Your commander sharply ex-vents.   
“Pay attention. We’re sweeping the area for survivors and picking up anything valuable. Up.”   
You practically jump to your feet, internally cursing yourself for getting lost in thought again. Stop thinking so much. Just focus on the raid, and everything will be fine.   
  
Your platoon fans out to search the area, with you being sent with Two-Hundred-Four and Two-Hundred-Six to go around the back. You climb over fallen, burning wood beams, shattered chunks of stone. You pass by a feathered humanoid, an owl, that’s what Tante was talking about, slumped and bleeding from multiple bullet holes in their-- No, no, you are not thinking about it, you are focusing on the raid. Focus. You notice a small sheath around the owl’s waist, and upon examining it, you find a small blade, a dagger. You take the sheath and the dagger. A weapon, like you were instructed to collect. You’re doing your job. Everything is fine.   
The three of you make your way to the back. You find a few more bodies, ignore the blood smeared on the ground, take their guns and swords and ammunition, and dig through the charred rubble, just to be thorough. It isn’t long before you’ve scrubbed the area clean of anything to find, there really wasn’t much back here. Your commander is so committed to doing everything perfectly, someday you hope to be that dedicated.   
“ _I’m going to tell the commander that we’re done out here._ “ Two-Hundred-Four glances at you.   
“Go ahead, come back and tell us they say.” You nod, and head back the way you came. You don’t find your commander out front, but the open main gate beckons, the actual gate itself a mess of twisted metal blown inwards. You venture within, the debris creaking under your feet, the interior dark. Your cameras switch over to low-light vision, and at the end of the hall, you see Hundred-Eighty-One, loudly scolding Hundred-Ninety for something that you can’t quite make out. You feel awkward being there, maybe you should wait outside until they’re done?   
  
That thought dies the second you see something move in the darkness. It’s hiding in a side doorway, in shadow, so not even your low-light lens can fully make it out. It shifts again, and a part of it comes into the area you can see. Skin. Blood. Not metal. It’s a survivor. No feathers, not an owl, what is it? Your processor seizes as it draws a powerful-looking rifle and clicks the safety off. You look frantically between it and your commander, mentally begging them to notice this threat, but Hundred-Eighty-One’s shouting is too loud. It lifts the gun to it’s shoulder, the barrel aimed at Hundred-Ninety, and everything goes cold.   
  
You tackle it. It whips it’s head around to see you, shock and horror in it’s eyes as you make impact, slamming it’s torso into the door frame. On animal instinct you grab it by the shoulders and slam it again and it grunts in pain. You’re about to go for another when something smacks the side of your head, hard, knocking you into the hallway. The butt of the rifle, you realize as the door slams shut, putting you both in complete darkness. It trapped you. It trapped you, and you’re blind. It grabs you by the largest tassel hauls you up and in one swift motion pins you to the door with the barrel of it’s gun shoved against your neck. You can feel it shifting, it’s trying to find the best way to shoot you without releasing it’s chokehold on you, and you frantically reach for your pistol to shoot it first. Your hand closes on the dagger instead and without thinking, without seeing, you plunge it into whatever part of the body is pressing against you.   
“Fffuck!”   
It hisses, gasps in agony and tries to fight against your hand. Still high on adrenaline, you force the blade in as deep as possible, pull it out, and then stab again. It pants raggedly, loses it’s footing, and grabs the edges of your faceplate. The faceplate’s tabs come loose, and it tumbles to the floor, your faceplate coming with it. The engine dial, normally completely muffled by the plate, now clicks into the quiet dark. You stand there, venting heavily, gripping the dagger’s hilt so tightly you can hear the joints in your hands scrape together. The door bumps into your back and you fling yourself away from it into a heap, still unable to see anything.   
  
This is rectified quickly as the door swings open, Hundred-Eighty-One and Hundred-Ninety standing in the doorway. Hundred-Eighty-One’s glowing eyes illuminate the area, and you can see the survivor, your faceplate clutched in it’s bloody hands, a pool of blood slowly spreading around it. Hundred-Ninety speaks first.   
“Two-Hundred-Five. What happened?” You fight to get your fans under control.   
“ _I-- It was going to shoot you. I stopped it._ “   
Hundred-Eighty-One’s eyes light up, and they break into a hearty laugh. They step over the dead body and take your hand, helping you to your feet.   
“And what a job you did of it! And this was your first kill?” You nod, stunned. Hundred-Eighty-One claps you on the back, the pride in their eyes palpable.   
“Hah! If that’s how you do the first time, on your own, I’m waiting with bated breath to see how you’ll do with some actual training.” The end of the sentence comes out sourly, and Hundred-Ninety cringes. You barely notice.   
“ _You’re… proud of me?_ “   
“Sure I am! In fact--” Hundred-Eighty-One plucks your faceplate out of the body’s hands and hands it to you.   
“How’d you like to be a part of my platoon instead? We could use more pirates like you.”   
You stare, dumbstruck. The engine dial clicks away. You take your faceplate and reaffix it, the clicking fading back to nothing, and try to find your words.   
“ _I… I would be honored, commander._ “ They tilt their head up with a happy glow in their eye.   
“Great! Your new number is Hundred-Ninety. You’re moving on up in the world! I’ll see you back at the ship.” They pat you on the shoulder, and leave the hallway, again gingerly stepping over the body and still-spreading pool of blood. You go to follow.   
  
You nearly turn to look at the body.   
Don’t think about it. Focus.   
You did the work on your own.   
You got promoted.   
They were so proud of you.   
You can do this. You can do what you’re told.   
You promise.

END OF ACT I, PART II  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> achievement get: baby's first murder  
> thanks for reading! things are only going to get worse from here


	3. ACT I, PART III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: medical examinations, robot gore, lots of brainwashing, graphic descriptions of violence, ableist language, death

“Alright, just hold still and it’ll be over soon.”  
You try your best to follow the order, swallowing the discomfort of Hundred-Eighty-One’s claws being half-buried in your internals, pushing wires and circuitry out of the way to handle the frame, every cable rubbed together wrong sending a fresh shudder down your--  
You decide to focus on the rest of the room, try not to think about what’s happening… down there. You’re back in the barracks, with the rest of your new platoon, just running it through your mind sends a buzz of joy down your spine that nearly drowns out the jolt of wrongness as Hundred-Eighty-One flicks it from inside your b-- no, no, you’re not thinking about that. Stop thinking so much.  
You’re in the middle of a physical examination from your new commander, so that they can decide where you’d fit best in the platoon. You’re sitting on your bunk, involuntarily drumming your fingers against the wooden slab. It’s fine. It’ll be over so-  
“Whoops.”  
A stab of pain shoots through your chest as a wire kinks. A strangled whimper slips out your vocal processor, your fingers digging into the bunk and air hissing through your fans. Thankfully, the piercing pain fades as the wire is straightened back out, leaving only a dull ache behind. Hundred-Eighty-One looks up at you, head tilted slightly.  
“Sorry ‘bout that.”  
“ _It’s- fine._ “ You curse the way your voice shakes. Hundred-Eighty-One chuckles a bit, and returns to the examination that you are not thinking about.  
“If you think kinks are bad, just wait until you get your first knot. You’ll be wishing it was just a kink!” The mere thought of it makes you cringe, and you laugh with them at your reaction.  
  
  
_It was just a kink. I’ll be fine._  
  
  
Finally, Hundred-Eighty-One pulled their talons out of the open chest panel.  
“Alright, that should do it!”  
You let out a sigh of relief and shut the panel.  
" _So, uh, how did it go?_ "  
Hundred-Eighty-One’s eyes dim slightly, and they avoid your gaze.  
“Well, I won’t sugarcoat it. It was far below my expectations. Your frame is much weaker than the rest of my platoon.”  
Everything seizes in shock and horror.  
  
  
_I failed them._ _  
_ _They were so proud of me before, and I messed it all up._  
  
  
You hang your head.  
“ _I’m sorry, commander._ “ Before you can get too deep into dark thoughts, however, Hundred-Eighty-One pats you on the shoulder.  
“Hey now, it’s not like you’re totally worthless. You can still make a place for yourself.” You perk up.  
“ _What can I do?_ “  
“Well, your body may not be all bad; it’s much lighter, so you should be a good deal more agile than my other troops.” Hundred-Eighty-One’s grip on your shoulder tightens.  
“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Hundred-Ninety. It is not going to be easy. You’re gonna need to put in twice the effort if you want to keep up. But I think you can do it. Wanna know why?” You nod, almost unconsciously. They tilt their head up, and the glow of their eyes is piercing.  
“Because you’ve got loyalty like I’ve never seen. You took out an armed hostile whose weapons far outclassed your own, all by yourself, with a weak frame and no prior training, running solely off your determination to protect your superiors. If anybody can do it, it’s you.” You nod again, shocked speechless from the sudden, glowing praise. Hundred-Eighty-One’s eyes flicker a little, and they rub the back of their head with a claw.  
“Sorry if I overwhelmed you a bit there! I can’t have any of my platoon feeling useless now can I?” You shake your head, still a bit dumbstruck.  
“ _N-No, commander. Thank you._ “ Hundred-Eighty-One chuckles again, a confident sound.  
“Think nothing of it! Now, follow me, it’s time for your first training session.”  
  
  
The training room was large, wider than the barracks, with racks of weapons and targets against the walls, and a large circle carved into the floor. Hundred-Eighty-One and Hundred-Eighty-Four leaned against the wall to give pointers, as Hundred-Eighty-One had explained. You stood on one side of the circle, and your opponent, Hundred-Eighty-Seven, stood on the other. Hundred-Eighty-One pushed themselves off the wall and crossed their arms.  
“Alright, this is Hundred-Ninety’s first time, so we’ll just do hand-to-hand combat for now. Ready?” You and Hundred-Eighty-Seven both nod.  
“Ready, commander.”  
“ _Ready, commander._ “  
“Go!”  
Hundred-Eight-Seven sprang towards you; thinking quickly, you darted to the side.  
  
  
_My commander said I was lighter and faster than the other pirates._ _  
_ _I’ll keep out of Hundred-Eighty-Seven’s way until they’ve tired themselves out, then go in and pin them down!_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ Hundred-Eighty-Seven seemed momentarily confused about the dodge, skidding to a stop and whipping their head around, giving you the chance to get more distance from them. Once they recovered, they charged again, slashing at you with heavy swings of their talons. And again you lept out the way.  
  
  
_Hundred-Eighty-One was right, I’m so much quicker than them._ _  
_ _They can’t even touch me._ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ The thought fills you with pride and determination to show your commander that you can make a place for yourself in spite of your flaws. If anyone can do it, it’s you.  
Over and over, Hundred-Eighty-Seven lunges at you, screeching in anger and practically flailing as you nimbly avoid their wild strikes. You bounce on your heels as Hundred-Eighty-Seven struggles to rip their talons out of where they’d embedded them into the wood. You laugh confidently, just like your commander does.  
“ _What’s the matter, sir? Getting a bit worke--_ “  
“Oh, come on!”  
You turn towards the exasperated shout. Hundred-Eighty-One’s eyes glow bright, their claws clicking aggressively.  
“Stop playing around and get on with it!”  
All the confidence is sucked out of you instantly. You stammer and fumble over your words as you try to explain what you’re doing, fidgeting slightly as your wires burn.  
Something slams into your side at full speed, knocking you off your feet and onto the floor, hard. Hundred-Eighty-One and Hundred-Eighty-Four cheer. You try to get up, but can’t. Out of the peripherals of your cameras, you see Hundred-Eighty-Seven’s faceplate, their claws pinning you to the ground. Your sigh of defeat instantly becomes a scream as metal twists and pain erupts throughout your body, Hundred-Eighty-Seven’s talons finally finding purchase as they rake down your back. You scream for them to stop, but their assault doesn’t let up, even though you’re pinned down and can’t fight back, it gets worse, driving their claws deeper every time, letting out their frustration with you, you try to push yourself up or them off but you just can’t, weak frame weak frame, and it hurts, it hurts really bad, please stop, please help, _commander help me--_  
  
“Alright, alright, that’s enough. Break it up.”  
The stabbing, fiery pain in your back starts to fade, leaving only a buzzing ache. Slowly, you prop yourself onto wobbly elbows, swaying slightly as you struggle to recollect yourself.  
“Great work, Hundred-Eighty-Seven! You’ve been working on your mauling speed like I told you, haven’t you?”  
“Affirmative, commander.”  
“Well, it’s definitely paying off. I look forward to seeing you tear into people on the battlefield!”  
“Thank you, commander.”  
“As for you…”  
You’ve managed to get onto your hands and knees when Hundred-Eighty-One comes to stand in front of you, arms crossed, chin lifted.  
“What were you **doing?** ”  
You sit back on your folded legs, shaking your head to try to clear it.  
“ _I--I was-- tryin’ to tire ‘em out… Wh--Why did they hurt me? I was--_ “  
“You were pinned?” Hundred-Eighty-One rolled their head with an exasperated sigh, putting their face in their hand. The shame burns as hot as ever.  
“You really are new to this. Look, Hundred-Ninety. A hostile isn’t gonna stop for you to recalibrate and get back on your feet when they knock you down. You know what they’re gonna do?”  
“ _M-Maul me?_ “ Hundred-Eighty-One makes a clicking sound and a finger gun with their claws.  
“Bingo. In a real fight, your enemy will rip you joint from socket if they can get you pinned. And this training is supposed to prepare you for a real fight. So let the pain be a lesson to you to not let yourself get into that situation again, because in a real fight, I won’t be there to call them off you. Got it?” You nod, getting back to your feet.  
“ _Got it._ “  
  
Hundred-Eighty-Seven chuckles as you crane your neck to assess the damage to your back. Your circuits burn with a mixture of humiliation and anger as you try to block it out and focus on the deep scratches marring your chassis. They puncture the metal, whole chunks of shell jaggedly ripped away and exposing the torn wires underneath, sparking periodically. Even your frame has marks on it. It’s gonna be a nightmare to fix.  
Hundred-Eighty-One returns to their place on the wall next to Hundred-Eighty-Four.  
“You up for another round, Hundred-Ninety?”  
You look up at Hundred-Eighty-Seven, their body totally unscathed, remember their smug laugh as you looked over their handiwork, the searing pain as their talons tore into your body, how they made you look like an idiot in front of your commander. Your fists clench.  
“ _Of course, sir._ “  
  
  
By the time Hundred-Eighty-One calls it for the day, both you and Hundred-Eighty-Seven are covered in scratches, dents, and torn-out chunks of plating, with Hundred-Eighty-Seven sporting a broken elbow joint, a fact you recall with a great deal of pride, remembering the praise Hundred-Eighty-One had given you for your excellent follow-through when snapping Hundred-Eighty-Seven’s arm over your knee. You’d learned how to use your speed in an actually productive combat style, darting out of the way of your opponent’s attacks, retaliating quickly and brutally while they recovered, avoiding their next strike, only to jump right back in when they whiffed, all the while slipping out of grabs and tackles to avoid being pinned and mauled again. You were still getting used to the rhythm, though, and at one point, Hundred-Eighty-Seven had managed to grab you by one of your tassels and throw you like a shot put.  
  
  
_Damn this light frame._  
  
  
Both of you are sitting on the floor, recalibrating your stinging systems and doing some minor repairs. You look to Hundred-Eighty-One, absentmindedly playing with a wire poking out of your arm.  
“ _Are we doing this again tomorrow?_ “  
“Of course! We do this every day unless we’re called in to help with a raid. I hope you’re good at putting yourself back together!” All of you exchange a laugh. Hundred-Eighty-One lifts their chin, a warm glint in their eyes.  
“Tomorrow you’ll get to train with the rest of my platoon, Hundred-Ninety. I just wanted you to have your own private session while you were still adjusting. I get busy with my troops, so I don’t have time for these often, but I still see a lot of potential in you.”  
“Even though they let themselves get pinned?” Hundred-Eighty-One chuckles.  
“Yes, Hundred-Eighty-Four, even so.”  
You feel warm, but comfortably so, not like the burn of embarrassment. It feels so nice; you avert your gaze.  
“ _Thank you very much, commander. I’ll get better, I promise._ “ Hundred-Eighty-One claps you on the back, and you have to seize your vocal processor to keep from yelping in pain.  
“See what I mean? Never give in, Hundred-Ninety, always give it everything you’ve got, and you’ll be an amazing pirate.”  
  
Out of the corner of your cameras, you see Hundred-Eighty-Seven roll their head slightly, and return to their maintenance. As they struggle to repair themselves with only one functional hand, you’re reminded of something. Hundred-Eighty-Eight, that’s right, the pirate missing an arm that was under Tante’s employ.  
  
  
_How does a one-armed pirate fight? Hundred-Eighty-One called the session after I broke Hundred-Eighty-Seven’s arm._ _  
_  
  
" _Hey, commander, does Tante let Hundred-Eighty-Eight train with us?_ "  
Hundred-Eighty-Seven and Hundred-Eighty-Four visibly recoil in disgust at the question. You feel a bit of yourself curl inwards at the reaction.  
" _I--I'm sorry, I didn't--_ " Hundred-Eighty-One raises a hand.  
"It's alright, Hundred-Ninety. You don't know any better. Let me explain. Hundred-Eighty-Eight is an apprentice of Tante, meaning Tante has taken them under her wing, so to speak, to train them to be a better pirate. Like our private training session today, but all the time, and much more important. We all strive to catch the attention of a lieutenant and be made their apprentice.” You cock your head.  
“ _So becoming an apprentice is a good thing?_ “ Hundred-Eighty-One nods.  
“ _But Hundred-Eighty-Four and Hundred-Eighty-Seven seemed upset when I mentioned Hundred-Eighty-Eight._ “  
Hundred-Eighty-One clicks their claws in thought and rocks on their heels.  
“...Well, you see, Tante is good at her job, but--”  
“--But she only takes the biggest losers and rejects as her apprentices, probably ‘cuz she feels bad for ‘em.” Hundred-Eighty-Four continues, derision smoldering in their eyes.  
“Hundred-Eighty-Eight was our weakest link, soft-hearted and all touchy-feely, y’know the type, til they jumped in front of a rocket to protect their ‘friend’ and got blown halfway to hell. Gettin’ picked by Tante is like bein’ given the ‘World’s Worst Pirate’ award. If you want respect, you get on Miles’ good side, I hear he’s the captain’s new favorite.”  
Your platoon continues to chatter and bicker about which of the lieutenants are the best to get apprenticed to, but you’re barely paying attention, completely fixated on what they said about Tante.  
  
  
_Hundred-Eighty-Eight was… a bad pirate?_ _  
__Soft-hearted and touchy-feely… Tante was nice to me, and fixed me up._ _  
__Is she a bad pirate too?_ _  
__No, she can’t be. She’s a lieutenant, one of the best pirates, and my commander said she was good at her job._ _  
__How could they say such mean things about such a good pirate? Just because of who she chooses for her apprentices?_ _  
__Well… well who cares what they think of her. Tante was nice to me, she’s a good pirate, and she’s their superior anyhow._  
  
  
You stand, and head out of the training room, still lost in thought. Your fellow platoon members are still so engrossed in their argument that they don’t even seem to notice.  
  
  
It’s not long before you stand in front of that large door once again. You came from an entirely different part of the ship than you did the first time, but despite that, you just knew where to go to get here. You reach towards it, hesitating only a second, before pushing it open.  
The room seems the same as it was, but Tante and her apprentices are nowhere to be seen, and all the lights are off.  
  
  
_She must not be here._ _  
__She’s probably busy somewhere else, lieutenants are very busy, this was a stupid idea--_ _  
__  
__  
_ You hear a faint, mechanical whimper and metal scraping. You slowly creep into the room, quietly closing the door.  
“ _H--Hello? Who’s there?_ “  
“O--Oh, I’m, I’m sorry, sugar, jus’ give me a moment.” It’s Tante, but she sounds… different.  
Something shifts in the darkness, and you can barely make out her silhouette as she stands. Her eyelights click on, a sad white glow barely illuminating her face. Your processor twists a little, seeing a pirate you remember being so friendly looking so unhappy.  
“ _Tante? What’s wrong?_ “  
She begins to wring her hands.  
“It’s… It ain’t nothing you need to be frettin’ over, sweetheart.” You cross your arms.  
“ _You’re sad. I want to know why. I’m gonna fret over it until you tell me._ “  
At that, she’s silent for a moment, before finally sighing and dropping her hands to her sides.  
“Alright, alright, you win. Here goes. Remember when I gave you your number, how I told you about the pirates with names, and I mentioned Kiva?” You nod. Tante’s fans kick up.  
“She’s--She was… destroyed, earlier today.” Her voice drops to a low, quiet growl, fists clenched.  
“Told her this would happen. Warned her to stop pushin’, but when does she ever listen to me?” You’ve never heard her this upset before, and it slightly sets you on edge.  
“ _What, happened to her?_ “ Tante sighs and sits back in the chair. You notice that the mirror in front of the chair has been covered with a black sheet.  
“Well, y’see, sugar, Kiva was a bit of a special case amongst us lieutenants--that’s what we’re called, y’know.”  
“ _I know._ “  
“Good. Anywho, Kiva was special, cuz she wasn’t apprenticed to just any old lieutenant, no sir. She was apprenticed to the captain himself. Handpicked to serve as his aide-de-camp. Taught her everything he knew, how to be strong, how to dominate ‘n intimidate her fellow pirates so they’d give her the respect she deserved, all that. Only problem is…” Tante sighed heavily.  
“Even after she became a lieutenant, she wasn’t satisfied. She got to thinkin’ she’d be a better captain than ol’ Molstrom, and started challengin’ him on things. Goin’ off on her own escapades, ignorin’ his orders. Normally he was content to just swat her around a little when she got too feisty, but today, Kiva, that fray-brain lunatic, thought it’d be a great old time to take all her apprentices and a bunch a little grunts she’d scared into followin’ her and launch a coup. And. Well.” Tante folds her hands in her lap.  
“The captain sorted her out, that’s for sure.”  
You’re left standing there, your systems reeling in shock and mounting horror.  
  
  
_The captain killed Kiva?_ _  
__How could he do that to one of his own pirates?_ _  
__...But…_ _  
__A good pirate does what their captain says._ _  
__She disobeyed him. She tried to overthrow him!_ _  
__Kiva was a bad pirate._ _  
__And… And being a bad pirate means you get blown halfway to hell, or destroyed._ _  
__  
__  
_ “ _I…_ “  
“ _I think Kiva got what she deserved._ “ Tante turns her head to look at you.  
“ _She was supposed to serve her captain. She was completely out of line. M--Molstrom was right to destroy her._ “  
Tante nods, slowly and silently.  
“Yeah. She just took it too far.”  
  
Tante squints her eyes slightly.  
“Say, sugar, can you just, come a little closer for me?” You take a few steps forward. Tante’s eyes flare worriedly.  
“Oh, darling, what happened?” You tilt your head.  
“ _What do you mean?_ “  
“I mean the fact thatcha look like ya just got dragged through the ship guts backward.” You wave your hand dismissively.  
“ _Training session. I’m okay, just got pinned and mauled a bit. It’s my own fault._ “ Tante stands from her seat, and begins to head back towards the door.  
“Well, still, let me fix that up for you, sugar.”  
You freeze up.  
“ _I’m supposed to do this myself if I want to get promoted._ “ This time, it’s Tante’s turn to give a dismissive hand wave while flicking the lights on.  
“Ah, don’t listen to those turkeys, they’re just jealous that a lieutenant’s payin’ attention to you. I normally only fix up the other lieutenants and the captain, y’know.” You’re flattered to be given the same treatment as such amazing pirates, but…  
“Hey.” A large hand gently cups the chin of your faceplate, and pushes it up. You meet Tante’s eyes.  
“If they give you any stink about this, tell ‘em I insisted on it. I’m a big girl, I can take the blame, okay?”  
“ _They already don’t like you, though._ “  
You slap your hands over your faceplate. How could you say that to the lieutenant that’s been giving you special attention?! Tante tilts her head, a bemused glow in her eyes as she guides you by the shoulders to the chair.  
“Oh, really now? And what exactly do they have to say about their direct superior?” You sit, picking at an exposed wire until Tante gently pulls your hand away from it.  
“ _W--Well… they, uh, said that you only pick the losers and rejects as your assis--your apprentices. That getting picked by you is like, like being given the ‘World’s Worst Pirate’ a--award._ “  
Tante laughs, big and loud, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.  
“Well, I never! I suppose that the captain certainly won’t mind then if I take a holiday and let his struts snap like dry wood then! Hoo doggy, worst pirate award, where do the grunts come up with this stuff?” The sound of her laugh alleviates a bit of your stress, and you can’t help but chuckle yourself. It does sound a bit silly now that you think about it. Once Tante regains her composure, she sets her hand on your shoulder.  
“Listen, Hundred-Ninety. In a bot-eat-bot world like this, people get desperate for even the smallest scraps of power, real or imaginary. They’ll make anything up if it makes them feel better or stronger. So don’t believe everything you hear, alright?” You nod, a little embarrassed of being so gullible.  
“ _Okay. I’m_ _sorry._ “ She lightly pats the top of your head.  
“It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re still learnin’. Now, lemme start fixin’ you up, okay, dear? I will warn you, it might hurt a lil bit, but I’ll try my best to be as gentle as possible. Lemme know if it gets to be too much, and I’ll give you a moment to recollect yourself.” You nod again, and Tante gets to work.  
  
It does hurt quite a lot at times, but not as bad as it hurt when Hundred-Eighty-Seven mauled your back. You keep quiet.  
Halfway through the repair job, you suddenly remember something.  
“ _Hey, Tante?_ “  
“Yes, sugar? Do you want me to stop?”  
“ _No, it’s not that, Eight was one of Kiva’s apprentices, right?_ “ Tante nods hesitantly.  
“ _What’ll happen to them now that she’s gone?_ “  
“Well, some of Kiva’s apprentices were destroyed in the conflict, but most of them were just given a good beating. They’ll return to normal pirate life, though they’ll get to keep their numbers, and if they manage to impress another lieutenant, they may get another chance to prove themselves.”  
“ _Do you think you’ll take any of them?_ “ Tante goes still and silent for a few moments.  
“...No, I don’t think so, sugar.”  
“ _Why not?_ “  
“Kiva… tended to apprentice pirates with a proficiency for strategy, tactics and whatnot, while I go for mechanical know-how in my apprentices. Y’know, Hundred-Eighty-Eight can take my arm apart and put it back together in under a minute!”  
You think back to your brief time doing maintenance in the Dreadnought’s internals, how you just… instinctively knew what needed to be fixed.  
  
  
_Could I be Tante’s apprentice?_ _  
__  
__  
_ You needed time to think it over.  
  
  
“Annnnd that should do it!” Tante closed your front panel and patted your shoulder. You stood and stretched your newly-repaired chassis a little.  
“You were very brave, sugar. Thank you for lettin’ me fix you up, I know from experience how hard it is to do anything when your body’s achin’ like that.”  
“ _It wasn’t so bad. But, um… thank you. I feel. Better._ “ You go to leave.  
“Hundred-Ninety, wait.” You stop, turning to look at Tante. Her hands are clasped in front of her, an almost pleading look in her eyes.  
“Be careful, okay? And, and don’t do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. If the other grunts are bein’ cruel to you, you’ll always be welcome here.”  
“ _O--Okay. Thanks, Tante._ “  
She dips her head, and goes back to her work. You open the door and step out into the hallway, gently closing it behind you.  
“Hey, Hundred-Ninety.”  
You jump a few inches into the air. Hundred-Eighty-One is next to the door, leaning against the wall and fiddling with a crossbow bolt. They look over at you, and let out a low whistle.  
“Well, doesn’t that look nice. Tante’s work?” You nod, slightly nervous.  
  
  
_Are they upset? Do they think I’m a bad pirate?_ _  
__  
__  
_ “ _Y--Yeah. Tante insisted on fixing me up._ “ Hundred-Eighty-One chuckles.  
“You two friends?” You nod again, much more hesitant. This conversation is really starting to put you on edge.  
“Yeah, I thought so. I was real worried once I noticed you were gone, thought you might’ve just gone back to the barracks. But when I couldn’t find you there, I figured here was the next most likely place. Second time’s the charm, looks like.”  
“ _Are, are you mad at me?_ “ Hundred-Eighty-One laughs a little.  
“Oh no, I’m not mad. I respect Tante and her profession completely.” You let out a little sigh of relief.  
“...I mean, the others probably will be, but I’m not.” You freeze. Hundred-Eighty-One shrugs.  
“I can protect you from my own platoon, but anyone higher than me… sorry, not much I can do there.” Your fans kick up with renewed vigor.  
“ _W--Well… Tante’s their superior. And she insisted. I--If they don’t like it, they can, they can take it to her._ “ Hundred-Eighty-One nods.  
“Well said. I hope you’re willing to tell them that yourself, though.”  
  
  
As Hundred-Eighty-One walks you back to the barracks, they explain tomorrow’s plans; another training session, of course, and this time, you’ll get to have weapons.  
The training hurts, but it’s not so bad.  
Your commander always gives you the best praise when you do good in training.  
You’ll do what you have to to get ahead.  
You remember what you promised Tante.  
That you wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with.  
But you can’t get out of training.  
You’re a good pirate, you do what you’re told.  
You don’t want to be a bad pirate.  
Bad pirates get destroyed.  
...  
You won’t have to break your promise.  
You’ll just have to get comfortable with the pain.  
Then it’ll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, totally okay you guys! definitely not a cult or anything! oh dirk i'm so sorry sweetie
> 
> sorry for the long wait! i hope this extra-long chapter makes up for it


End file.
